


Break Some Bread for All My Sins

by she_who_the_river_could_not_hold



Series: The 100 Chopped: Fic Challenge [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassins & Hitmen, Exes, F/M, Language, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Violence, hence why I didn't select the archive warning for it, the violence is canon-level as well as action movie like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold/pseuds/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold
Summary: Clarke’s been a hitwoman for a while now, so tonight shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. Find her mark, complete the job. But things go awry when her old partner and boyfriend, Bellamy Blake, intervenes. Everything falls apart, and then she wakes up and it happens all over again. Each repeated day forces her to confront parts of herself she’s pushed away and somehow Bellamy is at the center of all it. But how much can she handle over and over again before she breaks?





	Break Some Bread for All My Sins

**Author's Note:**

> General warning about this fic: there are some intense scenes of violence in this fic between two people fighting. Guns and knives are both used. I would describe it in the level of the movie Atomic Blonde, as well as canon violence in the show.
> 
> This one-shot is a part of The 100 Chopped Fanfic Challenge, Round 2: Angst. The required tropes are:
> 
> • Exes  
> • The classic “give up all your weapons” trope and the person spends the entire evening taking their weights worth out of their pockets  
> • A “Lets just (kiss/hook up/whatever) to get it out of our system” moment  
> • Groundhog Day/Time Loop AU
> 
> Also not officially the theme song of this fic, but I recommend listening to the song “Play With Fire” by Sam Tinnesz feat. Yacht Money. That song was on my writing playlist for this fic and I think it perfectly captures the vibe of this fic. The title is from the song “Blood in the Cut” by K.Flay, which was also on my writing playlist.

Clarke Griffin’s head slammed into the brick wall behind her and a groan escaped her lips; the first sign of weakness that she had given to her assailant. The realization made her curse under her breath and she shoved herself back up into a standing position.

 

The echo of the music from the club beside them thudded in the air, a distant memory of bodies crushed together and neon lights. Far off sirens and honking horns melted together — sounds of the city that she’d long grown used to, a white noise to the chaos in her mind. A chill was beginning to settle in the night. The blackness of the sky and towering buildings, cloaked in foggy light pollution, swallowed up any and all stars.

 

They were all superfluous details that Clarke had picked up with only a cursory glance before her gaze settled back on the person in front of her.

 

Of course he wasn’t making it easy for her.

 

As if he had been waiting for her to come to, he grunted and lunged forward with his fist drawn back.

 

Clarke dropped under the thrust of his arm and grabbed it, twisting it behind his back. Before she could get a solid grasp on it, he flung his head back and hit her forehead with a _whack_.

 

The two of them stumbled apart.

 

Blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes, Clarke quickly looked around the alley they were in. She needed something – anything – to even the playing field. There wasn’t much around them though.

 

Her inspection was cut short by giant hands encasing her shoulders and throwing her against the wall.

 

Pain bloomed in her shoulder blade where she had hit the bricks, the rough texture of them scraping against the leather jacket she wore.

 

His hands were still on her though, distracted and looking to see if it had been enough to really damage her, so he didn’t see her twist her torso and jab her knee into the soft side of his gut.

 

He hissed in pain and released his hold on her.

 

Taking the moment as his head dropped down and he folded in pain, Clarke jerked her arm up and elbowed him in the face. He stumbled back and she used the momentum to swing her leg out and kick him in the same spot where she had first struck him, causing him to double over even more.

 

Blood pounding in her head, only partially aware of the pulsating pain in her own body, Clarke’s hand deftly reached under her dress for the lone knife she still had on her. She’d have preferred a gun but she was running out of options.

 

Then he body-slammed her into the ground.

 

Her breath stolen from the impact, Clarke gasped for air as she tried to roll away from him.

 

Suddenly she felt a wrench of her neck as a hand curled into her hair and pulled it back. She was trapped on her hands and knees.

 

And then the cold press of a gun at the back of her head.

 

All of the sounds around her disappeared as every fiber of her being focused on the metal against her, pressing into her skin and bringing her straight to the balancing act of life and death.

 

She had always known that choosing to be a hitwoman put her at risk for moments like this. It was why her mother, the only person currently in her life who knew the truth, always held on a little longer during goodbye hugs. Why she kept her friendships at a distance to minimize the pain for everyone involved. Why she spent more nights training than sleeping.

 

The pavement in front of her was still damp from the rain earlier that day, the gritty feel of it digging into her palms. Blue light reflected off of the surface, flickering with the sign that it came from that advertised drinks and dancers at a nearby bar.

 

Her nails scratched at the ground as her hands clawed for stability.

 

_Any minute now._

 

“Hey McCreary, how about you take on someone your own size?”

 

With a jerk, Paxton McCreary released her hair and the press of the gun lifted from the back of her head. Choking in oxygen as she desperately inhaled, Clarke scrambled to her feet and prayed that the voice she had heard didn’t belong to the person she ultimately knew it did.

 

And as usual, her prayers were unanswered.

 

Bellamy Blake was standing casually behind them in the alley, wearing the same outfit she had seen him wearing in the club just before all of this. The black suit jacket cut perfectly to his frame, the olive green button up shirt underneath. A playful smirk graced his features, not even looking at Clarke as his eyes stayed solely focused on McCreary.

 

“Blake,” the older man growled, a hand pushing back his sweaty, overgrown mohawk out of his eyes. He seemed even more displeased than Clarke was at Bellamy’s unplanned arrival. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Making things more fun. What’s the matter, you don’t like a little chaos?”

 

Bellamy’s smirk was practically devilish at this point.

 

Hesitantly, Clarke began to edge her way closer to the two of them. Her knife was on the ground where she had been knocked down. Not an ideal spot but maybe if she managed to get a good hold on McCreary, it would give Bellamy a shot at him instead. He must have had a similar idea, or at least wanted the man to feel like it was a possibility, because he had pulled his jacket back a bit to show the gun strapped to his side in a black leather holster. The heels of her boots scraped against the ground, drawing McCreary’s attention to her. He looked at her warily before looking back.

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how good of a shot I am,” Bellamy’s voice hardened and he gave McCreary a warning look.

 

The man seemed to be weighing his options. With a sneer, he hiked his jacket up higher and pulled the collar up. Spitting at Bellamy’s feet, he began to jog away.

 

“This bitch isn’t worth it,” he called back before turning the corner to disappear deeper into the city. She hated letting him go but better to finish the hit when she was more prepared, now that she knew he was capable of overpowering her.

 

Bellamy waited until McCreary’s figure had completely disappeared before turning to cast his signature smirk at her. _Oh fuck this_ , she rolled her eyes. She was too sore from being thrown up against walls like a rag doll to deal with him tonight. Not to mention, smarting from the sting of failing to get a hit on the first attempt. She was better than this.

 

“I had it covered, asshole,” Clarke tried to shove past him.

 

It was easier to blame him though than figure out why she had faltered even before his appearance in the alley, letting herself get put in the position he had saved her from.

 

Bellamy’s hand caught her arm, pulling her to a stop. She shrugged him off and turned to glare at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“Covered?” He snorted. “I haven’t seen someone be that accepting about death in a long time Princess.”

 

Snarling at the nickname, she angrily poked him in the chest, moving closer to him and refusing to allow her body to register the smell of his cologne. She didn’t need that and his nickname for her to mess with her brain. Not when it had sounded so differently the last time it had fallen from his lips.

 

“You don’t get to interfere anymore. You lost that privilege the day you resigned and the day we ––” She didn’t feel like finishing that sentence, so with a huff she cut herself off and turned on her heel to leave once again.

 

“Don’t you mean when you forced me to not be able to watch your back? Remember that? When you picked this fucking job over our relationship and _left me_.”

 

His words were hurled at her, something almost mocking about them. They didn’t sound hurt, not anymore.

 

She stopped in her tracks, but couldn’t bring herself to turn around. That repeated phrase that he had flung at her years ago in their small apartment, the darkness unable to shroud the hurt on his face as she had sat at their kitchen table, wringing her hands.

 

Silence, or as much of one as a city can provide, filled the alley.

 

When she didn’t answer, she heard him let out a bark of a laugh.

 

“Where the hell was your gun anyway? You’re good with knives sure, but I taught you better than that,” he added ruefully.

  
A weak chuckle that she couldn’t fight escaped her. Her shoulders sagging somewhat, she turned a bit so that she could see him. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and his eyebrow was arched as he stared at her.

 

“Your stupid bouncers took all of my weapons,” she replied, trying to resist the smile quirking on her lips. It looked like he was too.

 

It hurt how easy all of this felt.

 

Bellamy nodded towards the ground. The blue neon sign by them was reflecting off the silver of her knife she’d tried to pull out before McCreary tackled her.

 

“Obviously I need to train them up a bit more, they missed one.”

 

That time she couldn’t stop the snort and smile. He shook out his curls and now there was a full on grin on his face.

 

Sighing, Clarke finally rotated so that she was fully facing him. This wasn’t a great time for this. Hell, she didn’t know if there was ever going to be a good time for them. But he had just saved her life. It felt weird even to her for her to just disappear like normal after that.

 

“Bell–”

 

She didn’t even finish his name before the gunshot rang out.

 

If she thought time had slowed at her own impending death, it positively screeched to a halt as she watched the bloom of blood spreading across Bellamy’s shirt.

 

His jaw went slack in shock and he looked up at Clarke. A flicker of his younger self crossed his face, years gone from it and she was staring at the young man she had first fallen in love with. But reality came crashing back as he dropped to his knees and this was now.

 

The years of strife between them didn’t stop her from racing towards him, catching him under his arms just before he crumpled completely to the ground. Her hands desperately pulled at his jacket, trying to pull it off and use it to soak up the blood coming from his gut.

 

 _There was so much blood_.

 

Clarke didn’t even realize she was talking to herself, a stream of panicked prayers coming out in one breath as she fought to apply pressure to the wound. Bellamy was staring up at her, his eyes glassy. His hand slowly reached up, drawing a line down her cheek to the mole just above her lips. Then back up again to softly place his palm against her face. His hands were just as rough as she remembered and she choked back a sob, turning into his hand and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to it. She couldn’t help herself, not like this.

 

“Don’t you fucking die on me Bellamy,” she breathed out before looking up around them.

 

They were near the mouth of the alley and she could see cars going by. She could only hope someone had heard what happened and would come to investigate.

 

“Somebody help!” Her voice was raspy as she yelled as loud as she could. Bellamy’s hand was beginning to falter against her cheek. “HELP!”

 

A warning shot was fired above them and she watched as the window in the store across the street shattered. Whirling her head around, feeling as Bellamy’s arm fell to the ground beside him, she spotted McCreary turning and fleeing. Gun in hand.

 

Red-hot anger flowed through her.

 

But the groan below her brought her attention back down to Bellamy. His forehead was furrowed in concentration as he let out shallow breaths. She could feel the blood pooling beneath her hands and she almost broke down again. But she had seen McCreary and she couldn’t let this end here. Not when she could avenge Bellamy.

 

“Please don’t die,” she whispered hoarsely, just as she heard the sound of sirens moving towards them. Bellamy jerkingly nodded, as if giving her permission.

 

So before she could let the exhaustion and emotions take over her, Clarke let the anger she had felt rush through her and she pushed herself off the ground and began to run after McCreary.

 

Her body was thrumming with frantic energy as she propelled herself faster through the alleys. Where her size had been a detriment against McCreary earlier, it was helping her now as she quickly began to gain on his larger, lumbering size. She internally cursed at her design to wear the boots with the higher heels on them. Though at least the fake leather material of her dress actually moved well with her skin as she sprinted.

 

Memories of training with Bellamy in the mountains of Virginia flashed through her mind, the two of them racing up to the top.

 

Her lungs were burning, her thighs screaming, but she was advancing faster on McCreary.

 

The city became more of a labyrinth the deeper they went. Running past drunk partiers and sleeping homeless people, Clarke honed her focus in on the man in front of her. In her desperation to chase after, she’d left her knife back in the original alleyway. But the pure rage and adrenaline in her, with the image of Bellamy on the ground, was enough to fuel her with the energy that she fully believed she’d could strangle him with her bare hands at this point.

 

McCreary, after a panicked look back at her, did a sharp turn to his left.

 

There was a glowing light coming from the entrance, no doubt one of those weird arcades that had been popping up in weird spots around the city. If he thought he could lose her with all of the machines and flashing lights, he was going to have to think again.

 

Arms pumping and her teeth gritted in determination, Clarke rounded the corner.

 

The bright white light immediately blinded her.

 

She stumbled, nearly tripping as she blinked rapidly to figure out what was in front of her. But the light was painful and a headache almost instantly bloomed as she fought to move forward.

 

“McCreary I’ll find you, you bastard!” She yelled into the light, bringing her hand up to try and block it.

 

It was too intense though and she found herself having to come to a stop. _Fuck, what was this?_

 

She closed her eyes tightly, hoping that when she opened them again she’d be able to better see her surroundings and figure out whatever the hell was going on in here.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s eyelids fluttered open, blearily taking in her surroundings.

 

Then as awareness settled in, she quickly sat up and her eyes darted around taking everything in around her.

 

She was back in her bedroom.

 

Gingerly touching her head to check for any type of wounds, she tried to remember the last thing she had seen. How the hell had she gotten back here already?

 

Memory of the white light came back first. The only reasonable explanation she could think of was that she had passed out. Maybe it had been from the lights or all of the injuries she had most likely sustained from fighting McCreary in the first place.

 

And then she remembered Bellamy.

 

Her whole body shuddered and nausea wracked her body as she scrambled to untangle herself from her sheets. The floor beneath her was cold and her bare feet skidded on it as she regained her balance from the ungraceful departure she had made from her bed. Goosebumps erupted on arms as she fought the wave of dizziness and urge to throw up.

 

 _There had been so much blood_.

 

Hands shaking, she frantically spun around looking for her phone. Letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of it on the bedside table, she pounced on it. It took a couple attempts for her to unlock it once her hands had slowed down with the jittering. But once it was unlocked, she froze again. It had been years since she had deleted Bellamy’s contact information.

 

But with another image of him on the ground in her mind, she knew that her best bet was to call the hospital and see if anyone had admitted him. There had been sirens when she had left, they had to have been coming for him.

 

The call felt like it was taking unnaturally long. Clarke paced up and down her studio, nearly chewing off her thumbnail as she waited for the ringtone to end.

 

Finally a woman’s voice picked up on the other line.

 

“Hi thank you for calling Arkadia Hospital how––”

 

“Is Bellamy Blake there?” Clarke interrupted, not in the mood for pleasantries.

 

“Are you inquiring about a patient or an employee ma’am?”

 

Clarke growled under her breath.

 

“A patient,” she finally said, sinking onto one of her dining chairs, holding her head in her hands. She couldn’t focus. All she could feel was his hand on her cheek before she left him.

 

A distant typing noise filtered through on the phone before the woman’s voice floated back, “I’m sorry there’s no one checked in here under that name.”

 

Her heart lodged in her throat.

 

Numb, Clarke murmured a thanks to the woman before dropping her head to the surface of the table. Bellamy not being at the hospital didn’t mean that he had necessarily died. He could have already checked out (though that seemed unlikely with the damage that the gunshot had done).

 

A text message dinged on her phone, the screen illuminating beside her. Clarke almost forgot that she didn’t have Bellamy’s number, excitedly reaching for it and instead seeing a different name than the one she wanted to see.

 

> **Kane:** Polaris, 10pm.

 

She frowned, watching as the notification sat on the screen until fading to blackness.

 

Those had been his instructions yesterday for her hit on McCreary. Did he already know that she had fucked up? It seemed ridiculous to believe that he’d go back to the club after all of that, but maybe he believed he’d gotten away with it.

 

The idea of him gloating, celebrating his victory over her and Bellamy, made her stomach coil. Actually that sounded exactly like something he’d do.

 

Her fists clenched and she nearly launched out of her chair before her eyes fell on the clock above her stove. Relaxing her body, she let out an exasperated sigh. It was only 11am, she had a ways to go before she could get revenge.

 

Clarke spent the rest of the day getting rid of her anxious energy by training, convincing herself that today she’d be better prepared to face McCreary.

 

It was while she was giving her punching bag a beat down that she decided that Raven must have been the one to find her, most likely when she never checked in to confirm that she completed the hit. Only a couple of people on her team knew where she lived in Arkadia and it made the most sense. Which would also explain why she’d woken up back in bed with her phone plugged in and her dress from last night hanging up. Raven wasn’t necessarily touchy-feely, but she took care of those she was close to in her own way.

 

On the treadmill in the apartment’s basement gym, Clarke pushed herself as hard as she dared. She couldn’t tell if in her mind she was racing after McCreary or running to Bellamy’s side. Either way, she always seemed too slow.

 

Picking up a sandwich that evening from a nearby deli, Clarke felt herself feeling jumpier than normal. She had seen horrible things before. It came with the job territory. But it had been years since she had been so rattled, so thrown off. It hadn’t been since Emerson in Prague that she’d been so close to dying on a job. And since Lexa all those years ago, someone she cared about hadn’t been in the line of fire.

 

Even when she and Bellamy had worked together, they’d worked so seamlessly together they had almost felt untouchable.

 

Cleaning up her dishes though, she reminded herself that they _weren’t together anymore_. She’d made sure of that when she had felt herself falling in love with him. When he’d asked her to leave with him, to leave all of this behind.

 

She slammed the towel down on the counter. There wasn’t time for reminiscing.

 

She had a job to do.

 

Figuring she might as well wear the same outfit as last night (she never bothered owning many clothes for going out), Clarke strapped up with her usual arsenal of tools. Her muscles were a bit sore and she could feel where she had hit the wall last night, but she also felt ready for this. Now it wasn’t just a hit, this was personal.

 

The taxi ride over was quick, but that didn’t stop her from drumming her nails anxiously on her knee at every stop light.

 

It was just early enough in the night that the line outside the club was short. Eventually she reached the doors and flashed her ID at the bouncers. She knew one of them, Nathan Miller. After last night, she was hoping to keep tonight’s interaction to a minimum. She needed to get in and out. Plus, she didn’t want to crack and ask him about Bellamy out here around so many people.

 

“Weapons please,” Miller intoned.

 

Clarke rolled her eyes, “Nice one.” And then tried to push her way past him.

 

“No special treatment,” he said with his signature sarcasm, throwing his arm up to block her. “Gotta hand them over.”

 

“Miller, we’ve gone through this already. Don’t worry about it,” Clarke let out in a huff, her patience wearing thin. Yesterday she’d assumed that she’d be fine going up against McCreary — today she wanted all of her tools at her disposal.

 

Clearly Miller’s was too judging by his expression.

 

“Look Griffin, just because I haven’t seen you in three years doesn’t mean you get a free pass. No weapons allowed.”

 

He might have said something else after that, Clarke wasn’t sure. She was too distracted by what he said about not seeing her. His hand was out expectantly, now frowning as he stared her down. All she could do was blink at him as her brain processed everything.

 

“Now, Clarke.” Miller’s voice cut through her dazed thoughts, though he was looking at her with a twinge of concern now.

 

Shaking her head, she gave him the best confident grin she had as if she hadn’t just completely spaced out in front of him. She wasn’t sure how he couldn’t remember her from yesterday but she wasn’t going to push the issue. Not without sounding like she had completely lost her mind.

 

Three years? What the hell was he talking about?

 

And did that mean with Bellamy…?

 

She couldn’t waste any time. With a resigned sigh, Clarke began to remove her weapons. Doing this twice now was going to suck.

 

Her small handbag held a hand gun, the perfect size to be concealed.

 

Then the gun strapped to her waist beneath the leather jacket.

 

Her knee-high boots each had a blade attached to the inside.

 

And somehow Miller noticed the brass knuckles disguised as a key chain that she had.

 

She started to walk past him after that one, smirking at the bouncer next to him who looked absolutely astonished. Miller stopped her again though, giving her a knowing look. Sighing, Clarke reached into her hair and pulled out the sharpened bobby pins she wore. Those were a personal favorite, especially for targets she was able to get to in the bathroom. No one ever suspected a woman fixing her hair.

 

Clearly Bellamy had warned them about all of her tricks.

 

The other bouncer’s jaw had completely dropped and even Miller was trying not to laugh.

 

Hair now undone, she let out an exasperated sigh and she was granted access to the club.

 

Though she grinned to herself as she walked in, the feel of her one knife still attached to the garter that she had around her thigh. Just like last time, she’d been able to get away with that one.

 

The club was dark, its blue and purple lighting creating the perfect ambience as the DJ on stage blasted music, speakers thudding through the bass and reverberating in her chest. She was pushing past people to get to a good vantage point when she saw him.

 

Bellamy was sitting up at the elevated bar in the center of the room. Checking her watch, she realized she here earlier than yesterday which would explain seeing him up there compared to their awkward run in on the dance floor. Seeing him smiling, chatting with one of the bartenders, flooded her with relief at the sight of him alive. She squeezed past some more people before running up the couple steps to get to the bar.

 

She startled him as she ran up, his eyes sweeping over her in a way that made her flush.

 

“You’re okay!” Clarke blurted out before she could think too much about that.

 

Bellamy cocked his head at her, absentmindedly twirling the drink in front of him. She didn’t have to look at it to know it was an Old Fashioned. The only cocktail he would drink and being this close to him gave her flashbacks to the taste of whiskey on his tongue after particularly hard hits, the two of them icing each other’s bruises and dropping kisses down long scars.

 

She shook her head to remove the image.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be? I run a clean establishment Princess. Unless you mean in regards to us, in which case it’s been a while, I’m allowed to move on.” There was something cutting about that last statement and Clarke blushed.

 

But she was also growing even more confused.

 

First Miller hadn’t remembered seeing her last night. Now Bellamy, wearing the exact same outfit as last night, was completely healthy and seemed to have no recollection of being shot in the stomach. Which was all starting to add up in a very bizarre way that she wasn’t sure she could wrap her mind around.

 

“You going to just keep staring at me?” Now Bellamy just sounded amused.

 

“I… no.”

 

He was grinning now at her obvious discomfort, though no doubt he assumed that it was because they hadn’t seen each other in years. Instead of the fact that they had seen each other yesterday, had a brief conversation about what she was doing there, and then him subsequently getting shot in front of her.

 

She wasn’t about to tell him that though.

 

“Of course you’re allowed to move on,” she finally settled on, her voice low. Her chest dully burned at the idea, which she knew was unfair. She was the one who had broken up with him in the first place.

 

The way he had tenderly touched her last night though was making all of this very hard.

 

He nodded at the bar stool next to him.

 

“Want a drink?”

 

She accepted the invitation to sit down, but shook her head at the offer for the drink. His eyes narrowed as she nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, looking around them for McCreary. She’d gotten in earlier than yesterday, she wasn’t sure when he arrived here normally.

 

“You’re on a job right now.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

She pointedly gave him a look back as if to remind him that she couldn’t just start talking about what she did out loud. He scoffed and looked around them.

 

“Don’t do your business in here, take it outside. I like keeping the reputation here clean.”

 

“There’s a back alley here, I’m taking it back there. He’ll be more cornered,” she found herself saying automatically, as if it was back in the day when they were together on a job.

 

He nodded as he took a long sip of his drink. His gaze was focused on the crowd around them and she recognized the look in his eyes. He was scanning for who he thought it was, his eyes sharp. Her own gaze fell down to his mouth. Yep, past the scattering of freckles on his face, the same small scar was above his lips. Even this new beard of his didn’t hide it completely.

 

“How is work going?” He asked idly, finally swiveling back to face the bar. He called over a bartender to get a water for Clarke.

 

She snorted.

 

“Are we really going to try making small talk?”

 

The barb came out before she meant to really say it and she regretted it once she said it. But it was too late to take it back. Bellamy chuckled humorlessly. His stare was almost unsettling. He always seemed to know how to see right through her and that had been part of the reason she had ended things with him. She had been too scared that he made her weak, that his ability to really know her made them both a liability to each other.

 

“I haven’t seen you in three years, forgive me for trying to have a civil conversation,” he snapped back. “And if anything, I should be the one that gets to be an asshole. You–”

 

“Left you. I know.” Clarke finished quietly. Bellamy blinked in surprise at her admission.

 

Yesterday she might have responded differently to his points. More defensive maybe. But that image of his face as he had looked up at her on the ground was too burned in her mind. He may not remember it, or have even experienced it at all, but she couldn’t forget it. And it made it so much harder for her to fight back with him. Instead, she was fighting the urge to gently touch the scar on his lip.

 

If only the time loop had kicked her all the way back to before she rejected his offer to leave all of this behind.

 

She was formulating her apology to him, an apology for everything under the sun that she could think of for all of the pain she had caused him, when she saw McCreary.

 

He was moving through the crowd, towering above people dancing. And he was heading towards the back exit, right to the alley where she wanted him.

 

Bellamy sensed her attention focus, immediately going on alert himself and straightening up so he could see who she was looking at.

 

“McCreary?” he hissed. “Kane gave you him without a partner to back you up? That’s bullshit.”

 

“Shut up,” Clarke snapped back, already clambering off of the stool to follow. “I’ve got this.”

 

“That’s a stupid plan,” Bellamy lectured, leaving his drink on the bar as he got up to follow her.

 

“Oh let me guess, you have a better one?”

 

They were weaving their way through the pulsating bodies, Bellamy’s hand accidentally brushing against hers as he pushed to keep up.

 

“I don’t know. The usual, you distract and I shoot him?”

 

She couldn’t tell if he was kidding or being serious, but she was too focused on catching up to the exit door to respond. She didn’t wait to see if he was still following her either, instead letting the fresh air wash over her as she mentally prepared herself.

 

She spotted McCreary over by some knocked over crates, lighting up his cigarette.

 

She got a running start, already pulling the knife out from her garter. He heard her at the last minute, yelling as she slashed at him. He’d moved just quick enough it hadn’t been a great first strike, but at least she had been the one to draw first blood.

 

It didn’t last long though as who she was clicked in McCreary’s mind and he roared in anger. He charged at her, batting her arm with the knife away and shoving her against the wall.

 

“Clarke!”

 

Bellamy’s voice came from behind them and she immediately began to panic. He shouldn’t have followed her out here. He needed to live. McCreary dropped his grip on her and she fell to the ground as he immediately became more defensive at the sound of someone else joining them.

 

“Bellamy get the hell out of here!” Clarke grunted as she picked herself up.

 

“I’ve got your back,” he replied, ignoring her command and reaching for his gun.

 

McCreary, noticing that he now had two coming after him, seemed to be ignited with a renewed sense of vigor. He pulled his own gun out and swung it between the two of them. Clearly debating which one of them to go for first.

 

Clarke made the answer for him, yelling and rushing at him. Her hand grabbed his hand that was holding the gun, thrusting it into the air away from her and Bellamy.

 

With that out of the way with one hand, she took her other arm and elbowed him in the face then swung it down to break his grasp on the gun, grabbing it for herself then before he could even register what had happened.

 

She was too close to him though and McCreary’s wingspan helped him and he punched her in the face, sending her stumbling back and she dropped the gun.

 

But McCreary wasn’t focused on her anymore, lunging at Bellamy and knocking his gun out of his hands too. Bellamy blocked the punch to the side, kicking McCreary’s knee with a side kick to send him down. He then scrambled for his gun, the two men nearly wrestling with each other.

 

Clarke’s head was beginning to hurt and she crawled desperately on the ground, searching for where the second gun was.

 

When she finally found it, she whirled around with it aimed at McCreary.

 

And stopped cold.

 

Somehow while her back had been turned, he had gotten the upper hand on Bellamy. His boot was pressed into his chest, keeping him in place. And the gun in his hand was pointed right at him. Bellamy looked furious, but at the sound of McCreary chuckling, he then looked over at Clarke. Her heart broke at the way he looked at her, but his expression was quickly replaced by resigned determination.

 

“Take the shot Princess.” The nickname sounded so soft now and she whimpered, the gun in hand shaking. “Take the fucking shot.”

 

She couldn’t do it.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, slowly lowering the gun. “Please, just let him go.”

 

McCreary watched closely until she placed the gun back on the ground before gesturing for her to stand up. She did so slowly, unable to take her eyes off of Bellamy who was looking at her with increasing panic.

 

Another motion of the gun and Clarke tentatively placed her hands behind her head.

 

“Now let him go,” she asked hoarsely.

 

McCreary studied her. Then shook his head and grinned.

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

Clarke barely had time to close her eyes as the gunshot went off.

 

She screamed and when her eyes finally opened, McCreary was already on the run. Tears burning down her cheeks, she took off after him. As she followed him, it felt like she was being carried more by memory than she was from where she watched him turn. She pushed and pushed, gaining on him slowly. When she saw the lit up tunnel in front of her, she knew what was about to happen. But the ringing of the bullet being shot was enough to propel her forward, throwing her arm up to block herself from the blinding light.

 

* * *

 

 When Clarke opened her eyes and saw the familiar textured white ceiling of her apartment above her, she rolled over onto her stomach and let out a scream into her pillow.

 

She didn’t even have to check the date on her phone.

 

It was happening all over again.

 

This time she just remained stubbornly in her bed, the blankets pulled up around her face. Just around 11, she heard her phone ding.

 

A quick glance over.

 

 

> **Kane:** Polaris, 10pm.

 

She groaned and punched her pillow, almost apologizing for taking her rage out on it. But right now she couldn’t imagine getting out of her bed at this point. Her limbs hurt from two days of fighting the same asshole. Her heart hurt from two days of watching Bellamy get shot. Why did she have to be stuck in the worst possible time loop imaginable?

 

While she hid in bed though, her mind didn’t rest. She tried to trace back everything that had been happening. Trying to place what occurred on what she now supposed was the original version of today, looking for any type of clue of what had caused this.

 

Nothing came to mind.

 

That left her with the option of just staying in bed and letting the day play out without her. She had to be the central issue right? Without her involved, everyone would be okay. Sure, McCreary would get away but Bellamy would live. As much as Clarke would never tell her team that, but letting an arms dealer live so that Bellamy wouldn’t get shot was one of the easiest decisions she had made.

 

But the longer she lay there, the more she thought of Bellamy.

 

What if he still died, but without her there?

 

The thought of him bleeding out was enough to propel her out of bed. This time she had a game plan though. She didn’t know how time loops really worked, but there had to be some type of way to get out of it. So for today, she was going to do everything the exact same as she had the original day. Down to the minute if she could.

 

Which was how hours later she found herself getting thrown up against the same brick wall by McCreary, her shoulder blade now screaming in pain.

 

And then crying into Bellamy’s chest as his blood grew sticky in between her fingers.

 

This time when she chased after McCreary into the light, she welcomed the intense glare and willingly closed her eyes to start again.

 

* * *

 

This time Clarke was thankful to wake up in her apartment.

 

She slowly sat up, her hands tightly wound in the soft fabric of her comforter. They felt raw, and when she pulled them up to her face, she could see small indents and cuts from where she had placed them on the cement as McCreary had held the gun to her head.

 

She was able to hold the tears in until she sunk down into her bathtub.

 

And she finally let herself cry. Full-body tears that wracked her frame, choking out of her as the tears coursed down her cheeks and burned her eyes.

 

After her dad’s death, she’d grown up going to the local mega-church, City of Light, with her mom. She’d always struggled to believe, even with the charismatic pastor Alie, a young woman who spoke to the congregation with confidence and such belief that even her mom was able to find solace there, a skeptic in her own right. But Clarke had felt detached from it all.

 

Now she wondered if she was being punished.

 

Doomed to repeat seeing the one person she loved die over and over again.

 

That thought only made her cry harder. Not just because of the idea of this being some type of level of hell situation, but the idea that it was only after all of this could she admit to herself that she truly loved Bellamy Blake. Not just in the past tense, but fully and completely loved him now. And that she probably had never stopped loving him.

 

Eventually the water grew cold and she knew she had to get out.

 

The rest of the day was more of a fog compared to the others. She did more stretching than training today, preparing her body for the night. And when it was finally late enough, her stomach full with Chinese take out because fuck it she didn’t know how calories worked in a time loop, she was ready to go back to Polaris.

 

Gone was the tight dress and leather jacket. No more knee-high boots. Just old skinny jeans that felt like a second skin, combat boots, and a hoodie.

 

There wasn’t going to be any pretending tonight.

 

If she was going to have to keep seeing Bellamy like this, always new moments after her watching him die, she wasn’t going to let him see the killer in her. The perfectly controlled, always meticulous her. She was going to go to him as just Clarke.

 

It was nerve-wracking to go through all the movements again.

 

The same cab. The same line to get in.

 

This time when she approached Miller though, he did a double take. Before he could say anything, Clarke shook her head and unzipped the hoodie to show him that she didn’t have any guns strapped to her.

 

He wasn’t going to find out about the knife she had slipped up under her sleeves.

 

“I’m just here to see Bellamy,” she pleaded.

 

She didn’t know what her face looked like, but Miller’s expression faltered and he sighed. Quickly looking over at the bouncer next to him, he nodded for her to go ahead and go in.

 

The club was exactly how it had been the past two nights, but she had made sure to come at the same time that she had the first day of the loop. And just like she had hoped, Bellamy was seated up at the bar again.

 

Same as each of the other loops she had experienced, he looked surprised to see her. This time even more with the stark difference of her appearance compared to the clubbers around them.

 

“Clarke? Are you okay?” He quickly jumped out of the barstool, coming up to her and gently pushing some of her hair out of her eyes. She knew the bruising was still there from McCreary’s punch in yesterday's loop, but to see Bellamy so quickly fall into protective mode hurt even more.

 

So she did the only thing she could think. She fell into his arms and hugged him as tightly as she could.

 

His hands immediately tangled themselves in her hair and she breathed in deeply. She could feel his heartbeat against her, his muscles shifting as he moved. _He was alive, he was alive, he was alive._ It was enough for her to pull back just slightly, pushing herself onto her tiptoes. She needed to feel him alive and warm in her arms, without the feeling of blood separating them. This hadn’t been a part of her original plan, but she couldn’t help herself.

 

“Let’s dance,” she leaned up to whisper in his ear.

 

The bass was heavy as she pulled him into the crowd, strobe lights sparking through the air above them. It almost felt like a fever dream. And maybe it was, with her days repeating after each other like they were. But all she knew right now was that he was alive, and if she was going to watch him keep dying she needed to do something. Something to have a more recent, better memory of him to hold onto.

 

They started slowly, swaying to the music. Clarke’s hands slowly rose above her as she moved her hips, his hands dropping to her waist. The more crowded it became, the closer the two of them pushed towards each other. She felt sweat trickle down the back of her neck and she lifted her hair up to cool it off, her eyes closed as Bellamy’s hands guided her to the music. Memories of long ago twirled in her mind, their bodies moving from muscle memory more than anything.

 

Her eyes flew open though as she felt his lips ghost against her neck, the curls of his hair tickling her cheek. She gasped slightly and he pulled back for just enough space so that they could look at each other. Even in the dark interior, she could see how his eyes had darkened and she felt her heartbeat speed up.

 

He seemed to be asking if she was okay with it, so rather than answer with words, she placed a finger under his chin to guide his mouth to hers.

 

The whiskey he had been drinking burned into her tongue, just barely offset by the sweetness of the cocktail’s other ingredients. Even with the memories of him tasting like this before though, it was still distinct that they were older now. Changed. The beard scratched at her, a sign of the years that had passed since she had seen him. But through it all, he was still Bellamy.

 

His hands were on her hips now, squeezing her tightly. There was a feeling of possessiveness and she felt like she was drowning in him as their kiss deepened.

 

Finally pulling apart to breathe, Clarke knew that she wasn’t going to be able to resist him. Not tonight. It didn’t matter if this Bellamy only knew her in this moment as the girl who had left him and then appeared out of nowhere after all of this time.

 

“I need you out of my system,” she struggled to say. It felt like the oxygen was being sucked out of the room the longer he looked down at her, his eyes staring at her like that.

 

“Get me out of your system Princess? You’re still thinking about me?” His tone was teasing but laced with a need that seemed to match her own.

 

_Only every day since I left you. And even more having to watch you die in my arms over and over again, feeling like a piece of me dies with you each time. I’ve never needed you more than I do now._

 

Instead she just nodded.

 

That seemed to be enough for him though, leaning down to give her enough searing kiss that left her breathless. It felt like he was trying to convey something through it and she hoped that she was equally telling him how much he meant to hurt. How much these last few horrible days had been killing her faster than being lonely since leaving him. So even if he just saw her as an ex coming back for one last night, it was enough for her to know that she’d be able to feel him again.

 

He began to guide her through the crowd, his hand confidently holding hers. A flush had crawled up her face. It had been so long since they had been together. A part of her felt a fear at him seeing the new battle scars that she carried on her body, as well as the ones she hid internally. But she knew him and she knew that he never saw her the way that she saw herself. There was no reason to worry about how he would treat her.

 

They were nearly to the entrance to the club and working through the last large crowd when Clarke’s hand was pulled from Bellamy’s grasp.

 

Before she could call out his name, a hand clasped over her mouth while another one jerked her arms back into a tight hold.

 

“You didn’t think I’d notice that I was being followed?” A voice growled in her ear and a shiver went up Clarke’s spine. “That I didn’t have Kane’s number one girl tailing me?”

 

McCreary.

 

She began to struggle against his grasp, fighting to break herself free. It was difficult with the crush of people around them, all distracted by the lights and music to notice her. He began to drag her deeper into it, towards the side exit that she had followed him through in the previous loops. And then she saw Bellamy for the briefest of moments, frantically looking for her in the crowd. He barely got a glimpse of her, their eyes meeting in panic, before McCreary kicked the door open and yanked her outside.

 

She was at an even bigger disadvantage this time. She’d gone from the hunter to the hunted.

 

McCreary, holding onto her tightly, threw the two of themselves against the wall. The momentum and extra weight he was able to throw behind them made them spin against the wall, slamming her against it again.

 

Clarke stomped back on his foot as she fought through the dizziness. He fell back away from her and she quickly yanked the knife out of her hoodie.

 

Before he could realize what had happened, she stabbed him in the shoulder.

 

He grunted and pushed at her face, trying to throw her off of him while she dug it further into him. When that didn’t work, he swiped his leg underneath her, throwing her off balance enough that she let go of him.

 

They were both panting, McCreary nearly rabid as he struggled to pull the knife out of his body.

 

Before he could though, another body entered the fray as Bellamy came up from behind Clarke. Without hesitating, he drew his arm back and punched McCreary.

 

“Bellamy, no!” Clarke ran up and tried to pull him off, her hands pulling at his arm. “You need to get out of here!”

 

He didn’t head her pleading though, continuing to pummel the arms dealer with every ounce of strength he had. McCreary got a couple of his own hits in, struggling to defend himself with the knife still wedged in him. But he managed to land a couple punches to Bellamy’s gut.

 

But then as Clarke watched, his hand went from a closed fist about to strike Bellamy, to reaching underneath his jacket and pulling out the gun that had been in the holster. Bellamy froze as McCreary placed the gun under his chin, finger on the trigger. Hands slowly raising, Bellamy eased off of him and backed away.

 

The three of them stood completely still, the stand off locking them into place.

 

Brandishing the gun at the two of them to keep them back, McCreary pulled the knife out of his shoulder with a twisted grimace on his face. Now he had both of their weapons, as well as his own gun. Clarke fought to keep calm, her eyes darting over to Bellamy. She hadn’t wanted any of this night to go this way; none of this was going well for them.

 

Watching their reaction, his breathing labored, McCreary first pointed the gun at Bellamy. Clarke couldn’t help her body from starting, flinching and a small noise of panic escaping her.

 

He grinned.

 

The gun swung in her direction this time, aiming straight for her. Clarke braced herself. Was this her way out of all of this? Was this what it had all been leading up to? She knew she couldn’t trust McCreary no matter what he did to her, but without her in the way maybe it would be easier for Bellamy to fight him. He wouldn’t have to worry about protecting her anymore. She knew she had never made it easy for him, maybe this was the only way.

 

Bellamy had other ideas though.

 

He launched himself at McCreary, hands reaching for his neck as if to strangle him for even threatening Clarke’s life. It only took a moment then. McCreary, barely noticing in time, grunted and swung the gun back in Bellamy’s direction and fired.

 

The same stunned surprise expression that Bellamy wore each time returned. His body came to a stumbling halt, as if he was surprised at his own mortality. As if he hadn’t even considered his own life as he had lunged to protect Clarke’s.

 

A scream ripped from her as she watched him drop to his knees.

 

Focused only on Bellamy and completely ignoring McCreary, her heart in her throat, she ran to Bellamy’s side. He was nervously touching his stomach in shock, the blood on his hands dark in the dim lighting of the alley. Clarke knelt beside him and did her best to help hold him up. He had been lucky that he had caught McCreary off guard; he hadn’t been able to fully aim and like the first night, the shot had gone through his gut.

 

Time seemed to squeeze in and out of focus.

 

Shouts of panic came from the street.

 

The sound of sirens emerged in the distance, slowly growing closer.

 

With a clatter, McCreary dropped the gun and backed away from them. He was shaking his head, his hair falling in front of his face. Like a skittish stray dog, he shifted back and forth. If he took up more time to try and finish off both of them, the odds were higher that the police would show up. Or he could escape and hope that he could get away fast enough to disappear.

 

Clarke’s gaze caught his for a moment, and the pure hatred she felt for him bubbled up inside her. It must have been obvious to him as well, because he immediately turned and sprinted away, his decision made for him.

 

Her fingers itched to grab the wayward gun, to channel her fury through vengeance. _Blood must have blood_ , her mind chanted at her. To not only complete a hit, but to give him what he deserved for shooting Bellamy.

 

But even as her impulses told her to move, to run, to chase after McCreary… she couldn’t.

 

Not this time. This would be a fight for another day.

 

Rather than watch him escape, Clarke turned back to Bellamy. The sirens grew closer as McCreary’s steps faded into the distance. She pulled off her hoodie, using it to help stop the bleeding as gently as she could. It was terrifying every time how much there was and to know that it was his. But she worked as diligently as she could. Finally Bellamy laid a hand gently on hers, stilling her actions.

 

“Go after him,” Bellamy rasped. “Finish the hit.”

 

Clarke shook her head, the tears falling from her face onto Bellamy’s.

 

“I’m not leaving you, not this time,” she swore to him, her hand pushing his curls back from his forehead. “I’m staying right here.”

 

The sirens were getting closer to them now, the spinning lights preceding the ambulance's arrival. The damp air was beginning to collect in droplets on their skin and hair and it felt like Clarke’s lungs had completely cleared, her breath easy for once.

 

She continued to apply pressure to the bullet wound up until the EMTs ran over to them, the stretcher already prepared. It didn’t take much convincing for them to let her ride in the back  (not that at this point she would have let them say otherwise). Once they were inside, she reached her hand out shaking, and Bellamy, even with his eyes partially shut in pain, managed to grasp it. They rode the length of the trip to the hospital with their hands intertwined. Even after a grunt of pain, Clarke noticed that he had the faintest smile on his face as he glanced over at her through one of the EMT’s arms. This was where she meant to be.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke’s eyes opened, the lights were dim in the room she was in. Confusion took over as she sat up, realizing she had fallen asleep bent over in a chair.

 

“Good morning to you too, Princess.”

 

The whisper drew her gaze up until she saw in a hospital bed in front of her…

 

“Bellamy,” she breathed out, nearly crying at the sight of him smiling at her. She tenderly reached out to touch the bandage that covered his torso, her fingers then delicately reaching for his. Suddenly away from the alley and the night, she felt nervous that she had overread anything. Were things different outside of a life or death scenario?

 

Her fears dissipated though as he laced his fingers between her, pulling her hand up to this mouth to press a soft kiss to it.

 

“You stayed,” he mumbled into her hand, his breath hot against it.

 

The tears finally arrived, pricking her eyes. Whatever it was, this time loop that she had been going through, it was over. She’d woken up in a hospital room beside a very alive Bellamy, her cold apartment far from here.

 

“I’m still here,” she whispered back, crying tears of joy. “I’m still here.”


End file.
